


100 crowns

by CatLovePower



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Based on a Tumblr Post, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Tired Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24461653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatLovePower/pseuds/CatLovePower
Summary: Kidnapping Jaskier is a bad idea. But threatening the lute is even worse.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 203





	100 crowns

The sky was purple and pink, an explosion of color matching the explosion of pain that came with actually opening his eyes. Waking up hangover wasn’t ideal, but Jaskier was mostly used to it. Waking up in a strange place happened less frequently, as he tended to sneak out before dawn, in case the witcher didn’t feel like waiting for him. But waking up tied to a tree with dried blood all over the side of his face was a first. He could see a camp and two people sitting in front of a fire, but everything was blurry and confusing. 

“Am I being kidnapped?” he asked, his voice a little shaky.

He tried to sit up straight, but the rope wouldn’t allow it and chaffed against his wrists, cutting off blood flow to his fingers.

“He’s awake,” one of the bandits said, looking his way.

“No shit,” Jaskier railed. He tried to blink the dizziness away, not liking the way his head felt like a squashed fruit. “Any particular reason for this unpleasantness?”

He didn’t think those two had wives, but he couldn’t rule out a sister.

“Be nice, or we’ll gag you,” the other said. 

“Hmm, kinky,” Jaskier commented.

He winced when wiggling his eyebrows turned out to be painful. Geralt always said not to antagonize the enemy, but he wasn’t there and he wasn’t the boss of him.

He tried to remember what happened, but it was pretty fuzzy. Geralt was out on a hunt in a bog, or a swamp, or a march; somewhere damp and disgusting that Jaskier chose to avoid. He sang at the tavern, got heckled, got drunk. Did he get in a fight?

“Did we get in a fight?” he asked the bandits. 

They looked at him over the fire and laughed. 

“Don’t mock me, I’m stronger than I look,” Jaskier whined.

He tugged at the ropes once more, thinking it would have been a right time for them to break, allowing him to make a daring escape. But he wasn’t that strong, to be true – not Geralt strong anyway. Geralt would have uprooted the tree and thrown it at the bad guys by now.

Then he remembered the dagger the witcher had gifted him, which he wore in a hidden sheath in his boot. Geralt may be strong, but Jaskier was flexible – and so he started wiggling, trying to cross his legs and wondering how to get the weapon out. Maybe he could use his teeth and throw it backwards until he could grab it behind his back. 

He was so deep in thought that he failed to see that the bandits were onto him. Next thing he knew, he was backhanded really hard, and the previously uninjured side of his face started to smart as well. Rough hands gripped his leg and wrenched the dagger out, throwing it away. 

“Sneaky little shit,” the leader muttered.

“I’m doing my best, thanks,” Jaskier answered with a bloody grin. He licked his split lip and spat on the ground in front of him. “Thanks for ruining my clothes, by the way,” he added dejectedly. His purple doublet was speckled with dried blood and there was a tear in his pant leg. 

The taller of the two was about to answer – probably something mean and insulting – when they heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Jaskier turned his head in the direction of the sound, expecting to see Geralt coming to his rescue like a white knight in leathery black armor. 

His hopes crumbled when he saw that it was yet another bandit. He was red in the face, as if he had been running. He shook his head and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath near the fire. 

“So, what did he say?” the leader pressed.

Jaskier tried to figure out who they were talking about and wondered if they actually went to Geralt with a ransom demand. They were so going to get murdered, he thought gleefully despite the pounding in his head.

“He said he won’t pay.” 

The leader pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed tiredly. “What did you tell him exactly?” 

The younger bandit took a breath and started talking. 

“I said we have your friend. He said he doesn’t have any friends.” His face was all scrunched up, as he was doing his best to recall the conversation. “So I said we have the bard. And then he just shrugged and said good luck with that.”

Jaskier could imagine the witcher’s bored expression, pretending he wasn’t important to him. He probably had a plan though – at least Jaskier really hoped so.

“What does that even mean?” the other bandits exclaimed.

They looked at Jaskier where he sat on the forest floor, trussed up and bloody. They were suddenly wary and curious.

“Maybe he’s some kind of fae,” one of them suggested.

Jaskier frowned, wondering if he could use that to his advantage somehow. Maybe scare them enough to release him – but not too much, he wouldn’t want to be left tied up all alone in the woods. He didn’t even know how far from town they were.

“Where is that instrument of his?” the leader asked, and the younger one quickly brought him Jaskier’s lute. It looked unharmed from where he sat, but he couldn’t tell for sure and he didn’t like seeing their rough hands on its elegant body. 

“Is it a magical weapon, you reckon?” He turned it over, looking at the elven inscriptions on the dark wood. 

“We should burn it,” the younger one suggested with a shudder. 

“Don’t you dare,” Jaskier spat through clenched teeth. 

“And what are you going to do about it? Use your powers,” the leader taunted, while his friend squealed in fright. 

“Give it back, you ruffians!” Jaskier renewed his struggles against the ropes, to no avail.

“Or what?” The bad guy cackled and raised the lute above the fire. If Jaskier really had powers, they would have dropped dead on the spot. 

“Put down the lute,” a voice ordered with a growl, the inflection just short of menacing.

Jaskier took a deep breath, ready to complain about the rough treatment, but he shut his mouth because Geralt clearly didn’t seem in the mood. He was covered in dark blood and entrails and he looked wet and tired. He threw Jaskier a dark look and came closer to the camp fire, a terrifying sight.

Jaskier made a face, because even if his memory was spotty at best, he was pretty sure this whole situation wasn’t his fault. Probably not entirely anyway.

That’s when one of the bandits decided it was best to threaten their hostage. Jaskier felt the ropes loosen, before he was roughly brought back to his feet and pushed forward with a knife against his throat. His limbs were tingling, and he got a head rush, but he tried not to stumble. He was probably concussed, with the way he kept spacing out, but he’d had worse. 

“Give us 100 crowns and we’ll give him back,” he heard one of the bandits tell Geralt. 

Jaskier scoffed at that, because really? All that trouble for such a paltry bounty? These blokes were out of their damn minds. He tried to shake off the hands holding him and said, “You think I’m only worth 100 crowns?” 

“What?” The leader turned his way, clearly taken aback. 

“Make it 10,000 crowns, you cowards!” Jaskier exclaimed, seizing the hand holding the knife and pressing the blade against his throat. 

“Jaskier, shut the fuck up,” Geralt groaned. 

The three bandits looked absolutely out of their depth now, and Jaskier was fuming. He was tired and hurt and his clothes were ruined, all that for a joke ransom. He kicked the one holding him in the shin and wrenched the knife out of his hand. 

“If my lute has a single scratch, you’re getting it,” he warned, holding the knife in front of him.

They all raised their hands, unsettled by that turn of events. Geralt crossed his arms and looked angry – something he was immensely good at – but they were clearly more wary of Jaskier now. 

The bard slowly walked to where they put the instrument down, wincing when he bent down to retrieve it. They made no move to grab him back, and Jaskier was sure the witcher wouldn’t have let them.

Part of him wanted to fight, or to watch Geralt cut them all down, but he couldn’t feel his fingers and his head was throbbing badly now. The witcher moved closer, covering their retreat, and Jaskier went without arguing. At least they got away with all their coin left.

He tripped over roots and branches, and Geralt grabbed his arm to help him. 

“Geralt, you’re disgusting!” Jaskier yelped.

“You’re not that clean yourself,” the witcher remarked in an even voice.

In the end, Jaskier let him help, if only to prevent him from falling and breaking his lute. His beloved instrument was thankfully unharmed, which was a miracle considering how banged up he was himself.

“Care to explain what happened yesterday?” Geralt asked.

He sounded patient and understanding, but Jaskier could hear the irritation behind it. 

“Would you believe me if I told you that I don’t remember a thing about last night?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is two [tumblr](https://vindicatedwitcher.tumblr.com/post/618542647282417664/bandit-holding-jaskier-hostage-at-knife-point) [quotes](https://patroclusdefencesquad.tumblr.com/post/190603687447/bad-guy-we-have-your-friend-geralt-i-dont) disguised as a fic, held together by whump.


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